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The edge of the hurricane

Turning and turning round, careening winds bring lariats and tambourines of rain. Torn-to-pieces, mud-dark flounces of Caribbean cumulus keep passing, keep passing.By afternoon rinsed transparencies begin to open overhead, Mediterranean windowpanes of clearness crossed by young gusts' vaporous fripperies, liquid footprints flying, lacewing leaf-shade brightening and fading. Sibling gales stand up on point in twirling fouettes of debris. The day ends bright, cloud-wardrobe packed away. Nightfall hangs up a single moon bleached white as laundry, serving notice how such levities can also trample, drench, wring or mangle.

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